


Prophet Take the Wheel

by Kyla_Wren



Series: Rowdy Girl, Sick Boy 'Verse [2]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, DrummerWolf, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyla_Wren/pseuds/Kyla_Wren
Summary: Role-swap AU - Martin has pararibulitus, Amanda is a very rowdy energy vampire.Martin goes to stay at the Ridgley and takes a ride in the Oh No Van.“We are Chaos,” her fey smile glittered. “We break things.”





	1. Chapter 1

Martin stood outside the house in the quiet dusk, arms crossed.

He wasn’t smoking, or taking the trash out, or even waiting for a delivery. He was just waiting, period.

The van still hadn’t come back.

He frowned. It had only been a day without its weird, menacing presence, but it already it felt like something important was missing. Wherever that van was now, Martin felt like he should be there too.

He shrugged and went inside, supposing it would be back when it was back, and not before. He decided to eat a real dinner, something he often forgot to do.

While he stared into the fridge and took stock of a limited jam collection, his phone buzzed on the table. It was Bea. Who else would it be? He took the phone and tipped back to lay on the tile floor, kicking the fridge shut. She didn’t even wait for his _hello_ to start talking.

“Bro, things are so crazy over here!”

Martin sat up. “You okay?”

“I’m totally fine. My neighbor got his apartment trashed, though, and the landlord is freakin’ dead!”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“He shot himself by accident! You know my neighbor, right? Todd? I always talk about him.”

“Yeah, the little guy.”

“The one who plays guitar! He’s so cool. Dorian was trying to kill him, and-”

“Why?” Martin got up and started pacing. He wished he was in front of his sister so he could shake her and make her put her story in order.

“Well, he sucks. He’s like, a crackhead. Was. He’s dead.”

“Todd?”

“Dorian.”

At this, her brother had to crouch down on the floor and rub his face. After a long beat, he straightened up. His voice was deceptively calm.

“Bea.”

“Yeah?”

“The whole year you’ve lived there, you have never, not one single, _solitary_ time, told me your landlord was a crackhead. With a gun.”

He could almost hear her guilty expression. “You woulda worried too much.”

“No shit,” he grumbled.

“He never bothered Tina or me! And the rent is so low! I think that for the time being it’s just gonna be free, too - I haven’t figured that out yet. Anyway, poor baby Todd… before that happened, he said this group of ‘angry vagrants’ broke in and just smashed up his whole apartment right in front of him. He’s still gotta be in shock, I haven’t heard any details about it. They really did a number on the hallway, though…”

“I’m comin’ over.”

“Hm?”

Martin pulled a duffel bag out from under his bed. He unzipped it with one hand and started dumping the contents of his closet inside.

“Right now. I’m comin’ over.”

“Seriously? How are you gonna get here? Do you want a ride?”

“I’ll take the damn bus.”

“Wow, this is so cool!”

“Glad you’re excited.”

“Are you really going to be okay doing that?”

“Even if I ain’t, I can deal. People have fits on public transit every day,” he said darkly.

“That’s the spirit!”

\---------------

The wind whipped by, rustling Amanda’s hair. It was half dry, half wet from her shower under a garden hose behind a suburban house where no one was home. She tugged on the edge of her shirt - black with a green ribcage painted on it, sleeves cut off low enough to show the sides of her bra - and leaned closer to the side mirror of the van. She was applying black shadow, only able to fit one eye at a time in the small reflection.

It was impossible to keep her mouth closed when she did her makeup. As usual, her lips parted of their own accord, and the taste of the neighborhood’s emotions danced over her tongue. Frustration. Boredom. Some happiness. Amanda tuned it all out.

“Hey, Boss,” Cross leaned over the side of the van’s roof, where he was posted like a crow’s nest watchmen.

“Yeah?” The shadow smudged a bit too far to the left. Whatever.

“That British guy’s still in town, I can smell him.”

Vogel launched himself off of a garden wall, stolen lawn gnome under his arm.

“Let’s snack on him next!”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She shut the shadow pan with a snap and reached to toss it into the glove compartment. It would be another day at least until they were hungry again, but it was always good to think ahead. “You boys wanna see a show tonight?”

“Music Show? Art Show? Burlesque Show?” Gripps popped his head out of the side door. “I Wanna See All Three.”

Vogel tossed the gnome to him like it was a football. He caught it one-handed and pulled out a permanent marker.

“I was thinking music show. Remember last time we were in town? We went to that bar on Pike Street. Neumos, I think?”

“Hey hey hey, YEAH!” Cross pointed down at her, nodding in delight. “We got kicked out.”

“That was so long ago, there’s no way they’ll remember us,” Amanda smiled. “Vogel, maybe don’t try to get on stage this time.”

“Aw man, that’s so harsh,” he grumbled, coming over to lean on the van beside her.

“What About The Guy?” Gripps didn’t look up from his work. The gnome was undergoing a transformation that included an eyepatch and mustache.

“What guy?” she feigned ignorance, eyes flicking to the side.

Cross stretched out, hanging his head upside down in front of hers.

“You know the one. The tasty one. The one you’re all googly-eyes about.”

“The one that’s all, ahhhhh!” Vogel did an impression of a man curling in on himself, batting at imaginary flames. “Rainbow ice cream girl’s brother.”

“Oh. What about him?” She reached into her pocket, feeling the edge of his photo.

“He’s coming with us, isn’t he? He’s our missing one.” When Cross raised his topsy-turvy eyebrows they moved down.

“He’s The Reason We’re Here.”

Gripps gave her a piercing look, softened with a smile. He got up and replaced the gnome on the nearest lawn.

“That’ll be up to him,” Amanda said, and that was the closest she was willing to get to the topic. 

\---------------

Martin did _not_ have a pararibulitis attack on the bus. He fell asleep for a few minutes, but otherwise passed the hour long trip in his normal state of consciousness.

The front of the Ridgely was trashed. Police tape had been pulled aside and left to flutter in the breeze. Several cars and at least one bike parked nearby had been smashed up. Some furniture, including a tv, lay in many, many tiny pieces on the sidewalk. When he looked up, the window they had exited stared back at him like a missing tooth.

A part of Martin, one that he didn’t know what to do with, looked at the destruction and thought - _Looks like a hell of a lotta fun_.

He snapped out of it and went to check on his sister.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his duffel bag inside by the apartment door. In anyone else’s voice it would be a casual greeting. When Martin said it, it was a serious question.

“Hi Bro!” Bea ignored him, wrapping him in a big hug. He closed his eyes and patted her shoulder.

Tina came barreling up close behind, enclosing them both in a double embrace.

“Martinnnn! What’s good my homie!! It’s so great seeing you outta the house!”

“No kiddin’,” his voice was muffled between the exuberant ladies. “Bea said some shit was goin’ down over here.”

Tina broke away, having a hard time containing her excitement. “Yeah dude! It’s been wild. Todd - you know, neighbor Todd - got a job working for a _detective_. They’re trying to solve the Lydia Spring case!”

“The missing girl?” Martin frowned. It had been all over the local news channels and the internet.

“Yep. It’s seriously intense. Reminds me of my old job, but, you know, way weirder.”

“Babe, you never did a missing persons case, did you?”

“Hell no. Traffic stops only,” Tina put her hands out for emphasis. Their orange tabby cat, Gelato, ran by Martin’s feet. “Bea, you should bring him over to meet the neighbors. I’ll keep an eye on the stuff.”

Martin looked around. Their place was covered in potted plants and tapestries and fairy lights. 

Tina pointed into the kitchen by way of explanation. “I’ve got the ice cream machine on and four pots of fruit boiling on the stove.”

“Ah.”

“Come on, come on,” Bea grabbed his arm and dragged him outside and across the narrow hallway, already bellowing. “Hey guys! This is my brother, Martin! He’s here to help us, too.”

Bea pushed in a door with a broken lock, revealing an apartment that would have fit in better in an abandoned building. Todd Brotzman, a person that Martin recognized from lots of Bea’s phone photos, stood in his kitchen with a cheerful gangly man and a beautiful, tense-looking woman. All three waved in his direction. He nodded back.

“Wow, you look _just_ like your photo!” the man in the kitchen said with huge enthusiasm. He had a British accent. Bea turned and grinned.

“It’s Bibbit!” she said, jerking a thumb in his direction. “Dirk, actually. He lives in our building now, and he broke into Todd’s apartment.”

“Days ago,” Dirk clarified, as if it made all the difference.

The odd group was crowded around a schematic and arguing about what it was. Actually, Dirk and Todd seemed to be having a separate argument, but the paper on the countertop caught Martin’s interest.

“That’s a utility map,” he said, leaning on the doorjamb. The words came from him unbidden. He recognized the pattern of shapes from the municipal websites he sometimes looked at. Chronic illness could make you do anything for a bit of quiet entertainment. “Electric grid, looks like.”

He walked closer, frowning at the blueprint.

“This here’s the building we’re standin’ in right now,” he tapped the outline of the Ridgely.

The woman seemed impressed. She reached out to shake his hand.

“I’m Farah.”

“Pleased to meet you. Nice jacket,” Martin looked at it over his glasses.

“It’s all happening!” Dirk said, overjoyed by this interaction. Todd was just frustrated, and made noises to match. The two of them moved their argument into the hallway.

Martin helped himself to a glass from the sparse cupboard and filled it at the tap. A glance down into the trash can revealed a pile of broken ceramic.

“Isn’t it awful?” Bea said, hovering nearby. 

“I didn’t say nothin’,” he muttered. He wasn’t about to judge the living conditions of others. Not with his current home being his sister’s couch.

“Todd said the people that did this came here because of Dirk,” Farah said, running her hand over a hole in the wall. “He said they _fed_ on him.”

“Like vampires?” Bea’s eyes were wide enough to pop out.

“In a way, I think. Dirk wasn’t hurt by them. Todd said they just… crowded around him, and… drank some blue light from him? It doesn’t make any sense. Dirk doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Blue light?” Martin frowned. He thought about laying on his back in the parking lot, asphalt scraping his arms. A halo of faces above him. One in particular, the girl -

“He said it was three guys and a girl, all dressed like a punk band that cleans chimneys,” Farah pursed her lips. “Which is a really weird and specific analogy.”

Martin choked a little on his water. While he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, he caught Bea’s eye. She had her trademark look on her face, chewing her lip.

“Vampire girl?” she said. She looked around the room at the destruction.

“Bea? What did you do?” Martin’s voice was equal parts tolerant and suspicious. If it was Bea, it was always something - and those were words to live by.

“Nothing! I just… may have seen them before. Maybe not, though. I see a lot of people every day.”

“Do you see a lot of vampires every day?” Farah raised her brows. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. See that graffiti on the wall? Dirk said they’re called the Rowdy 3.”

“I thought you said there were four of them.”

She shrugged. “You’re gonna have to ask Dirk about that one.”

\---------------

The next day was warm and bright. Too bright, for a van full of hungover Rowdies. Amanda drove slow and close to the curb so Vogel could take out every mailbox on the way.

The now-familiar sound of an ice cream truck worked its merry way into their ears. She slid almost to a halt, then turned in the direction it came from.

“This time I want a popsicle, too!” Cross said with a manic grin, his face materializing by her shoulder. Gripps popped up beside him.

“Yeah, They Looked So Shiny-Good Last Time.”

“Definitely.” Amanda squinted down the road. The rainbow-painted Beastmobile was parked on a corner. Kids and teenagers were walking away from it, treats in hand. 

There was a police cruiser stopped next to it, lights flashing.

“What’s that all about?” she growled, instantly protective. She stopped in the middle of the street and cut the engine. Her brothers grumbled and muttered, ready to fight. They grabbed their instruments of destruction and deployed from the van doors, a disorganized strike team.

A cop was leaning against the truck, clearly giving the women a hard time. Rainbow girl had her arms crossed, and the blonde tattooed one was trying to reason with him. He interrupted her, his patronizing tone carrying down the street.

“Do you ladies have a permit for this area?”

Vogel’s mocking voice answered.

“Do you have a permit to be so _stupid_?”

The four of them stalked up, spreading out to fill the street. The cop lifted his hands, already radiating fear. The women in the truck looked on with huge eyes and open mouths.

Amanda always knew there was something special about her and her brothers. Something that let her walk up to the cop and give him a casual shove, raising her crowbar to tickle under his chin. It was as if people knew, somehow, what they were capable of. No one else could get away with this - but the rules always did bend different when it came to the Rowdy 3.

“I think you’ll find our girls have _all_ their paperwork in order,” she purred, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows.

“Yes. Yes, Miss. Sorry,” he stammered, backing up. The Rowdies followed him. Gripps reached out and dragged a key across the side of the cruiser. The cop barely registered it. He was too busy trying to climb inside. The siren turned on and he peeled out, fast enough to leave tire tracks.

“Wow,” Rainbow girl clapped her hands. “That was amazing.”

“We didn’t get to stomp him,” Vogel’s voice was sorrowful. His golf club hung limp in his hand.

“Just so you know, we do totally have all the right permits,” the blonde said with a grimace. “He was just giving us a hard time. Super unprofessional.”

Rainbow girl fist-bumped Cross, totally at ease with the return of her little punk customers and their two additional friends.

“I’m so glad to see you guys. Who wants ice cream?”

Her question was met with a chorus of excitement, wiping away all disappointment at the missed opportunity for violence. Soon they all had a vibrant array of handmade frozen desserts, were on a first-name basis with the women, and were embarked on a little spin around the block in the Beastmobile.

“This is just a joyride, right?” Tina whispered to her girlfriend, who was taking the turns fast and blaring the jingle. “Because I think if we stop for customers with these guys in the truck we might get shut down by the health department.”

“You sound like Martin,” Bea laughed, waving her off. “Worry, worry.”

Amanda squeezed around her carousing Rowdies to talk to Bea.

“Martin?” she asked, catching the name.

“My brother!” Bea gave her a winning smile. “Now you have a name to put to the face, eh? Next you’re gonna have to meet him! Keep showing up like this, and you just might.”

The Rowdy girl smiled, dimples appearing on her cheeks. _Martin_. Nice.

They completed their circuit, screeching to a halt next to the Oh No Van. A group of confused youngsters holding cash finally caught up with them as the Rowdies tumbled out.

A scent in the air caught their collective attention, mixing with the taste of berries and cream. It was bad, rotten, full of memories sixteen years dead.

Amanda snapped her popsicle stick between her fingers.

“ _Shit_. Blackwing.”

\---------------

There was a man standing in the hallway, facing Todd Brotzman’s apartment.

Martin had been stretched out on Bea’s couch, smoking weed and reading _Something Wicked This Way Comes_ for the third or fourth time. He had just finished painting the nails on his left hand with some of Tina’s black polish, and he tried to turn the pages carefully while they dried.   
He was feeling pretty good, pretty chilled out. The drug made pararibulitus attacks less likely, but it also made him a little... sensitive, in the paranoid sense, to any sort of sound in or outside the apartment. Sensitive enough that not only did Martin hear the words “Open up, FBI” in the hallway, but he also had to spend several minutes lying very still and working out if they had been hallucinated.

When the insistent knocking failed to stop, he rose up and walked with a measured pace to the door. He watched through the peephole, pulling on his boots as the FBI agent carried on a one-sided threatening conversation with Todd Brotzman’s door. 

Martin knew for a fact that Todd wasn’t at home, because he had left about an hour ago with Farah and Dirk. The three of them had gone out with the map at the same time Bea and Tina left for their ice cream rounds. All of them had said goodbye to Martin and left him with their phone numbers, leaving him feeling like his sister had somehow dragged him into the orbit of a Scooby-Doo group. 

Their collective anxiety about the safety of the Ridgley had been off-putting, but he had chalked it up to general nuttiness. _Until now_ , he thought, eye to the door. The FBI agent’s voice rang out with a weird, nervous cadence.

He watched as the man tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, of course. 

Something inside Martin snapped. He should just stay inside, keep his own door locked and mind his business. Brotzman was barely an acquaintance, hardly a friend - yet when a man gave you his phone number “just in case”, and you saw that same man’s apartment get broken into, you had an obligation to intervene. 

The fact that it was a government agent, and an unethical one, made it rankle all the more.

“Hey,” he snarled, pulling the door open.

The agent stopped, caught in Todd’s doorway. He was taken by surprise, and fighting to come up with something to say. Martin took the opportunity from him.

“Ain’t nobody home there,” he snapped. “You got a warrant to go inside?”

“My name is Agent Wheedle,” the man said, flashing his badge like he had never done it before.

“Agent’s a funny name,” Martin drawled, edging out of the entranceway and and circling the intruder.

“Do you know Todd Brotzman?”

“I _said_ , ain’t nobody home,” Martin repeated, low in his throat. He could tell he was making this Wheedle guy nervous.

“It’s fine. I can wait.”

Martin stopped, looking at him in undisguised disbelief.

“You’re gonna _wait_?”

“Yes. I’ll just wait for him inside,” Wheedle moved with jerky steps into Todd’s apartment.

Martin’s muscles flexed. He caught sight of the agent’s gun holster. Right. An FBI agent would be armed, and it was doubtful this one would suffer any consequences for shooting a civilian who got in his way.

Wheedle dropped onto the sofa, looking for all the world like someone who really could wait all day.

Martin took out his phone. He hesitated, looking at the new names in his contact list. Based on their brief interactions so far, Todd and Dirk seemed… incompetent. Farah was the only one who might have it in her to deal with the FBI. He sent her a text.

She responded right away.

_Stay there. I’m on my way._

\---------------

“Vogel, I need you to calm down.”

The shortest Rowdy was shaking, looking back over his shoulder and twisting to glare out the front window every third second. He was also babbling - something that was, for the most part, normal - but now at an accelerated pace.

Gripps and Cross weren’t faring much better. They growled in the back like two angry dogs, the kind that bite because they remember being hit.

Amanda’s heart was beating fast. She was angry, too. She remembered the years locked away - the pain, the isolation, everything that helped forge the bond between the Rowdy 3. Back then they were the only friends that existed in the whole cold, windowless world. The only thing any of them had.

Still, she had to stay strong. For them. Her brothers needed at least one person to keep a clear head.

“There can’t be many of them in the city. I can only sense Riggins, maybe one other. It’s been years since Blackwing was active. He has to be alone.”

Her words weren’t doing much good.

“I _won’t_ let him take us, okay? We aren’t going back. Never again.”

She made a sharp turn, moving farther and farther away from Riggins’ familiar mark. They were picking up another trail. The British guy. The one with the good fear. He was close. And with him...

\---------------

Martin was on Todd’s couch now, reading one of the guitar magazines that were scattered around the apartment, with his legs stretched out and resting on the broken coffee table. A spring was digging into his back and a breeze was blowing in through the smashed window, but otherwise it was fine. Martin was sort of the unmoving, fixed point around which all weirdness seethed, and he was okay with that.

Farah was staring out the window. She had gotten Agent Wheedle to leave the building, but his car was still outside. She told Martin that Todd and Dirk were stuck in a hole five blocks away, but appeared unwilling to go help them until Wheedle was out of her sight.

Martin liked Farah. She had it all together, just enough, while still being a real freakshow. He approved.

She was muttering to herself in the window, rapid-fire.

“You did a good job,” he offered, tossing the magazine aside in a lazy gesture. “Don’t beat yourself up, Miss Black.”

Farah gave him a faint smile. “Thanks. But I didn’t. It was my job to protect Lydia and her father. I already failed.”

He shook his head. “It ain’t over.”

She was about to speak, when he cursed and held up his hands. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I smell burning,” he growled. Annoyance and fear jostled for attention in his brain while he calculated the number of steps to his pill bottle. Could he make it before the pain hit? Could he maybe ask- 

Farah sniffed. “So do I.”

She leapt up and looked out the window, mumbled something about Dirk, and hurried out the door.

Martin stayed for a beat longer, letting his hands drop.

“Huh.”

 

They hurried through the halls, winding down through the Ridgely to the basement. The smell of smoke was undeniable down here, and the panicked screams of Dirk and Todd echoed. Martin made his way to the back and touched the plaster in front of him. It felt hot, and the yelling emanated from within.

“They’re walled up,” he said, looking to Farah. She grimaced and pulled out her gun.

“Dirk! Todd! Get down!”

She fired seven bullets into the wall before the basement door burst in. In marched the Rowdy 3. All four of them.

Farah and Martin backed up as they swarmed inside, somehow everywhere at once. The dark-haired girl touched the bullet holes in the plaster and nodded to the others. The biggest one started to take down the wall with a sledgehammer, swinging it like a pinata stick.

The girl herded them farther back. She perched on a table like a gargoyle, crow bar resting on her shoulder, staring at them with eyes that burned with calm intensity. Martin was disoriented, but something about her gaze made him feel… peaceful.

Peaceful?

He didn’t have time to examine that feeling.

When the hole was big enough, the wild small one brought a fire extinguisher through, laughing like a maniac. They pulled Dirk and Todd out. The girl, displaying unexpected strength, lifted Todd up by his face and _tossed_ him in Farah’s direction.

They crowded around Dirk, who moaned nonsense but was too weak to resist. Joining hands, the Rowdies leaned forward. Martin echoed their movement, peering to see. Blue light reflected on his face and glinted off his glasses as they did - whatever the hell it was.

Whatever they had done to him.

When the last ribbons of light wicked off the hapless detective and into the Rowdy 3, they stepped over him, grunting their appreciation and rubbing their bellies. The girl stayed behind for an instant, looking straight at Martin. She winked.

They were gone before he noticed that Todd was leaning his full weight against him, almost naked except for a shredded denim jacket and looking somewhat worse for wear.

“Who _are_ those guys?” he yelped.

Martin stood, easing the little Brotzman guy up and onto his feet. He peered through the smoke into the hidden room. Wheels turned in his memory. A map… the missing girl…

He touched the ragged edge of the wall and gazed inside.

“Martin? What is it?” Farah was pulling Dirk to his feet.

He responded with a vague noise and went inside. The walls and floor in this room were scorched from far-flung sparks. Rows of dead televisions stared back at him like empty eye sockets. He frowned, remembering the vision that flashed through his head after the Rowdy 3 drank from him. Somewhere, here, was a space for a tool.

He felt around until he found it. A slot, with a twisting groove. Turning around, he found the other three crowded behind him.

“Do you have, ah...” he didn’t even know what he was asking for. He held out his hand, pinching at the air.

Dirk produced a metal crank. Impressive, considering his state of undress.

Martin fitted it into the slot and gave it a few turns. Just as it was in his vision - rotating slow and steady like the Milky Way. The screens lit up and a map was revealed. Todd looked at him with huge blue eyes.

“How did you know to do that?”

He shrugged.

“Call it a hunch.”


	2. Chapter 2

The van door slid open. Martin climbed inside, letting the pulsing music envelope him.

The dark-haired girl was at the wheel. She half-turned, smiling at him like she knew some secret joke. It felt strange to see her - really, all of them - when he was both fully alert and not surrounded by smoke. Thanks to the attack at the supermarket and the stress of the fire in the Ridgely’s basement, he remembered their faces like images from a dream. 

Now they were brought to sharp, real, focused life, illuminated by daylight and cackling around him while the girl revved the engine and sped off. He wondered for a moment if he was being kidnapped, and decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“You got in,” she said, smile widening. 

“Nice to see the inside, finally.” Martin settled against the wall, between the two larger men and toe-to-toe with the smallest one.

“I’m Amanda,” she said. “This is Gripps. He’s Vogel, and he’s Cross.”

The one with the circle tattooed around his eye cracked open a foamy beer and handed it over. He nodded his thanks and took a swig, brushing a hand across his beard. He’d probably leave it at that - it was barely noon.

“Name’s Martin.”

“We know who you are.” 

The Rowdy 3 waved in turn. Their smiles were genuine.

“I reckon I’ve met more folks in the last week than I have in the last… coupla years,” Martin admitted.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Amanda watched the road, a slight smirk on her lips. “A real acceleration of strangeness in your life, maybe.”

“Boss is like a poet,” Vogel said, aggressive in his compliment. “She knows all types of fancy words!”

“So, you… follow around Dirk Gently? You friends of his?”

“What, British guy? He’s not our friend,” Amanda shrugged. “We hardly know him. He just tastes really, really good. He gets scared prettyyy often, so we like to chase him. And if he’s not already, then we make him scared.”

She turned and winked. The Rowdies all laughed. They cracked open more beers, knocking them against Martin’s and yelling cheers and nonsense words. 

He couldn’t help laughing with them. Their high spirits were so intense and concentrated they became contagious. Being around them was like fireworks going off at close range.

“Now, when you say taste, you mean… what? His energy?”

“You catch on quick,” Amanda said, lighting a cigarette. “We eat people’s neurological energy.”

“Yours tastes even better,” Vogel blurted. “When you were freakin’ out - man, it was crazy! We never saw anything like it!”

Gripps did an impression of him mid-vision. “See Anything Cool?”

They acted like his genetic disease was something amazing, and like having visions of the future was just a nifty bonus. It was charming, he had to admit. 

“Yeah,” he broke a smile. “I did, actually.”

Martin closed his eyes, feeling the rhythm of the road. He reached out to touch the red velvet-lined wall. The make and model of the van was unknown to him, and he knew almost every type of vehicle a human could drive.

“This car magic?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Amanda made a _hmph_ of laughter. “Something like that. Hey, you wanna drive?” 

He stayed silent for a beat too long.

“Hey, no worries man, we got you!” Vogel said, squeezing his shoulder like he could read his mind.

Martin exhaled. He hadn’t driven since the diagnosis, since he had left work at the auto shop. It was too risky, he had thought. 

“The Van Won’t Let You Down,” Gripps added, somewhat cryptic. 

It was magic, after all. Or Something Like That.

“Why not?” Martin drawled, giving in. 

Amanda whooped in delight and pulled over, ramming the front bumper into a hedge. It seemed that any stop made by the Oh No van needed to be punctuated by a collision.

They made a brief fire drill of swapping places. Amanda settled into the front passenger seat, propping her feet up on the dash while he got the feel of the driver’s side.

When he turned the key, Martin felt a thrill of forgotten freedom. He looked over at Amanda’s smile and his heart did a curious little flip.

The van moved like a car half its weight. Something supernatural was at work - the frame might as well be made of air and light, the way it flew. It took corners like a motorcycle, turned on a dime, and asserted itself on the road like a tractor trailer. It gave him the impression it could handle a barrel roll, no sweat.

“Show us the sights!” Cross said, shaking the driver’s chair from behind.

“You got it.”

They drove all afternoon. Martin took them past his old high school, down the roads he used to haunt as a kid and as a teen, by the vacant lot where his friends used to cut class and start small fires. The Rowdies seemed to love the trip down memory lane - they ate up his stories, curious about what a relatively normal childhood was like. They drove into the city, taking the back streets, seeing all the music venues he used to haunt and the corners he’d had fights on.

Martin, for his part, couldn’t remember the last time he felt so free, and... happy. 

It was something he hadn’t noticed until now - the previous absence of excitement and happiness. It had been so long since he had a day like this. Being with new people. Doing something for no reason but to enjoy it. He had spent too long inside, alone, thinking he was fine or fine enough. Just getting through.

Now he looked over at Amanda and felt like he was waking up.

The sun set and they returned to the suburbs, watching reddened gold drip over the quiet streets and tangle in the treetops. In the gathering dark, they saw flashing lights.

“Hey! It’s That Idiot!” Gripps pointed ahead. 

The same police officer that the Rowdies had run into yesterday was pulled over on the side of the road, writing up a parking ticket.

“Oh, it’s rematch time!” Vogel howled, seizing his golf club.

“This is our stop,” Amanda said with a wicked grin, touching his wrist with light fingers. He pulled over. “All right, boys! Let’s show the prophet what we do for fun!”

The Rowdy 3 burst out of the doors and stalked up to the cruiser. The officer made some weak protests before actually turning and running away as his car started taking a serious beating. Martin turned the van off and got out, walking over to them with slow steps.

Amanda turned and hopped up on the car’s trunk. She flipped the baseball bat in her hands and presented him with the handle.

“Go on,” she growled. “Hurt it.”

He kept eye contact with her as he took the bat. She followed him around the side as he wound up and hit the window.

Oh, it felt _good_. Martin put a bit more power behind his swing and struck again, breaking the window this time. He gave the car a few more strikes as his new friends cheered.

Large spikes bristled on the bat, cutting through his hands. _Fuckin’ typical_ , he thought, as he dropped it with a stifled cry. Blood glistened on his palms. He dropped to his knees, struggling for control.

The Rowdies pushed closer, encircling him. Large hands hovered over his - he looked up to see Cross. His face was calm and serious, for once. Amanda, Gripps, and Vogel echoed his expression, blue light glowing briefly on their skin. Pain drained from Martin and was replaced with a feeling of safety. He relaxed, letting his shoulders drop.

“You’re not gonna have to worry about that shit anymore,” Cross said.

Martin found that he believed it. Amanda helped him up as the others found immediate distraction in the undamaged parts of the car.

“Who _are_ you?” Martin finally asked her, touching the dented roof. He felt dazed, by all of it. The magic. The shift in his life.

“We are Chaos,” her fey smile glittered. “We break things.”

Amanda took a drag of her cigarette and exhaled a cloud. Her voice changed, becoming more serious. Her eyes glowed with a last faint trace of blue light that dissolved as quick as it appeared.

“The universe is not orderly, nature is not tidy. We are agents of entropy - we return things to the way they should be.” 

“When _civilization_ ,” she continued, saying it like a curse, “makes bureaucracy out of torture and abuse, you lose your faith in systems. I spent my childhood in a cage, with no one but my brothers here.”

Martin nodded. He didn’t want to pry about their past. Not now. He had heard enough already to understand. Amanda looked at him and relaxed. Her smile returned. He noticed that she had dimples, which he found strangely adorable in combination with her punk look. She gave his arm a gentle punch, and when she spoke her tone was back to teasing.

“You’re a good agent of chaos, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’re a natural. That swing! Are you on the Mariners?”

“How the hell do you know about baseball?” _You’re a vampire that lives in a van_ , he thought.

“Hey, I see tv. Sometimes.”

As they left, Gripps took out a huge paint marker and drew a looping “3” on the cruiser’s trunk, then hurried to catch up with the others.

\---------------

They spent all night out. When Gripps suggested that the prophet needed dinner they got Martin a bowl of pho to go, paying with dirty bills that they pulled out of the cupholder. He ate it on a picnic table in a closed park while the Rowdies ran around and danced in the dark. The stars came out and frosted the sky. Some distance away, Amanda stretched out on the van hood to watch them sparkle above her.

When Martin finished the last of his noodles, the three guys appeared around him. He was startled, but they were all grinning.

Vogel sat very close to him, practically in his lap.

“Boss likes you,” he announced in Martin’s ear. “So do we!”

“And Boss Does Not Trust Easily!” Gripps tapped the side of his head.

“Yeah, well… likewise. On both counts,” Martin said, gruffly.

“She wants _you_ , man,” Cross pointed at him and gave him an intense look.

They made kissy noises at him and cracked up. Martin found himself lifted up and pushed by friendly hands in Amanda’s direction. When he turned around, the Rowdies were gone.

“Right,” he dragged his hand through his mohawk and kept walking.

\---------------

When she saw Martin walking over to her, alone, Amanda waved and moved over to give him space. He clambered up and matched her reclining pose, looking up at the stars.

They stayed in comfortable silence for a while. She lit another cigarette, and had begun to think he had fallen asleep when his quiet voice caught on the breeze.

“How do you find other people to feed on?”

“You mean when we aren’t snacking on British Guy? Hm,” she twisted to face him, moving a windshield wiper aside. “Well, sometimes we find a really shitty bar, you know - the kind with frat boys - and wait until some scumbag tries to get fresh with me.”

Martin could imagine how much she was understating the situation. His displeasure bled into his voice. “You get used as bait?”

Amanda’s smile was sharp and bright. “It’s not me that’s in trouble. Sweet of you to worry, though.” 

He mulled this over. It was hard to remember how dangerous the Rowdies were, when their powers only brought him relief. She swept her ponytail over her shoulder and played with the end.

“Otherwise, we just tend to run into… bad people. I guess they aren’t in short supply. The universe has never let us go hungry.”

Martin stayed silent. Amanda breathed in through her mouth. She wondered, belatedly, if it was rude to taste the emotions of your friends without asking. 

“What’s wrong?” she blurted out anyways.

Martin raised his eyebrows and chuckled, stretching his arms and letting himself fall back on the hood. “No use telling you it’s nothin’, huh?”

She squirmed. “You can say so. I won’t believe you, but I’ll stop asking.”

“Well…” he drew his voice out. It could be slow and deep, or fast and harsh, but always reminded her of a song. Now it was lazy, made to mask his feelings. “Maybe I’m just one of the bad people.”

She looked down at him for a moment. Then she laughed, which was the last thing he had expected.

“If you’re a bad person, we’re all doomed,” she punctuated her sentence with her cigarette, jabbing it in his direction. She put it back between her teeth and grinned wide.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, for one thing, I’ve talked to your sister.”

“Jesus.”

“She talks a lot, and she’s very honest.”

“Too honest.”

“You come off very well in all of her stories. You’re a good guy.”

Taken by sudden enthusiasm, Amanda grabbed his bent knee and gave it a shake. It was the kind of friendly gesture she would make with any of her Rowdy boys. She realized mid-shake that maybe she wanted to touch Martin a little too much, and therefore probably should keep her hands to herself. Tripping over herself mentally, she released him and backed off.

Martin, for his part, had only smiled and closed his eyes. His hands were folded across his midsection, relaxed and comfortable for a man reclining on a van windshield.

“You can’t know somebody from other people’s stories.”

“How about this, then,” she looked away, chewing her thumbnail. “Why don’t we keep getting to know each other and I can decide later?”

“Later?”

“Yeah, in like... a couple years? To be really thorough. How’s that sound?”

He actually laughed. The sound made her heart quicken - to think she was responsible for drawing it out of him.

“Decades, maybe?” she mumbled, smiling behind her hand and her cigarette.

“Okay,” he opened one eye and looked at her with a raised brow. “I like the sound of that.”

\---------------

“You’re really going to go with the Rowdy 3?” 

Bea stood in her apartment, holding Gelato in her arms. His cat carrier was open next to her. They were packing up, planning a trip to visit Tina’s family in Montana until the Lydia Spring case wrapped up and things went back to normal.

Martin helped her, holding the carrier door open while his sister wrestled her cat inside. He felt nervous, which was unusual. The trip had been his idea. With things going the way they were, and him agreeing to leave with the Rowdies, he wanted Bea and Tina out of harm’s way.

“That’s the plan,” he muttered, closing the carrier latch. Gelato meowed mournfully.

Bea swept him up in an unexpected hug.

“I think that’s AMAZING.”

“Wha-” Martin grunted, crushed between her arms.

“Seriously. You’re out and about, you’re happy, you’re going on a _road trip_ , with a HOT GIRL, and you made a bunch of new friends. Why wouldn’t I be psyched for you?”

“Do the visions of the future I’ve been havin’ worry you at all?”

“Even cooler.”

Martin sighed and hugged her back.

“We’ll meet up in Montana, right?” Bea said, pulling away to straighten her bandana.

“You know it.” Martin lifted Gelato’s cage for her. Outside, the Beastmobile and the Oh No van were parked bumper-to-bumper. Tina and the Rowdy 3’s laughter echoed up from the street.

It was time for an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
